


Confessions

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron has a few things to get off his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

I have a confession to make. Actually, I’ve got several, if you really want to know. But I reckon that they’re all so big that I ought to just take things one at a time.

My first confession.

I lied. 

I lied to my best mate.

The lie that I’m talking about isn’t one that happened really recently. In fact, it happened a few years ago. It happened a few years ago and I still think about it nearly every day of my life.

When we were eleven, all caught up in being ickle firsties and trying to figure out just who Nicolas Flamel was and what he had to do with the Philosopher’s Stone, I lied to Harry. 

At the time it seemed like it wasn’t such a big deal. And if you want to be a stickler about things? I didn’t lie straight away.

Late one night Harry and I hid under his Invisibility Cloak and went to see his parents in this mirror that he’d told me about. The Mirror of Erised. He’d been all excited and looked so full of… well, he looked _happy_ and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him really look like that. I took a step closer to the mirror (feeling more than a little scared about the whole thing – it seemed right dodgy to me, being able to see dead people in a mirror!) and it wasn’t Harry’s parents and ancestors who I saw looking back at me. I saw myself.

It was so odd seeing me in the mirror but it not really being me at all. I don’t know if that makes sense but you have to remember that I was eleven and the me in the mirror was a tonne older. The Mirror Me was the Now Me. The seventeen year-old me. 

I felt all topsy-turvy for maybe a split second. After that everything seemed so wicked! There I was, all grown up and I looked bloody triumphant! I was wearing my school robes (new ones, too! I’ve never had new school robes before. Everything I wore in first year were old clothes that belonged to Bill or Charlie.) I even had the Head Boy badge just like Bill used to! I could feel the corners of my mouth twitch for the space of two ruddy rabbiting heartbeats and then my entire mouth curved up in a grin so white I figure I could have lit up the entire castle with my teeth. 

And then I saw the rest. That Head Boy badge was sparkling and shiny like I’d obviously spent a lot of time sprucing it up with Shining Charms but it looked dull when I noticed the other things about Mirror Me. Mirror Me was holding the House and Quidditch Cups and I could clearly see my name engraved on the Quidditch Cup as _Ronald Weasley, Captain & Keeper, Gryffindor House, 199_8.

I recounted everything to Harry and could barely contain the urge to start skipping around that room. Me - plain old Ron Weasley - would turn into a somebody when he was older? 

Merlin, I had hoped so. I remember plain as day how I managed to look away from what I desperately hoped would be my future and eye Harry. I asked him if he thought it could tell the future. While he was answering me, I snuck a peak back at my Mirror Me and found that my grin widened just a bit and that my mouth and cheeks were starting to ache but I didn’t care. Mirror Me was no longer alone. Someone had joined Mirror Me and I couldn’t be happier to see that it was grown up Harry. He was looking at me with this expression in his eyes that was foreign but it didn’t put me off at all. The way he was looking at Mirror Me was like I was the best thing ever magicked up. Mirror Me turned toward Mirror Harry and laughed and put the House Cup in his hands before slinging an arm around Mirror Harry’s shoulders and smiling some sort of secret smile. 

_“How can it? All my family are dead – let me have another look–”_

When Harry spoke, I turned completely around and edged toward the mirror, not wanting to give him another go at it. He’d had the ruddy thing all to himself the previous night and this was my first time seeing it! 

I started to protest (just as Mirror Harry leaned over and ruffled Mirror Me’s hair) that he’d monopolized the mirror yesternight when we heard a noise and ducked under the Invisibility Cloak. Just in the nick of time, too, as that mangy Mrs Norris came skulking into the room. 

After what seemed like yonks, that damned cat left and I pulled Harry out of the room double-quick. We ran the whole way back to Gryffindor, nearly stumbling over the hem of the Invisibility Cloak a few times in our haste to outrun Mr Filch if he happened to be on our tail. 

Maybe I was a bit misleading with my confession. It isn’t actually lying to Harry if he didn’t ask me if what I saw in the Mirror of Erised changed, is it? I don’t know. I still feel beastly about it. I never told him that I saw him in there with me. I don’t know if I ever will. 

My second confession.

I was scared.

I was scared of my best mate.

I’m not scared of him anymore. Not really. Only sometimes but I’ll get to that later.

I wasn’t scared of Harry when I was eleven. I was more in awe of him than anything. 

When we were twelve, wondering about the Chamber of Secrets and why Moaning Myrtle had to be so mopey all the bloody time and sodding persistent when we just wanted a bit of privacy to discuss things in her bathroom, I became scared of Harry. 

I didn’t want to be but I _had_ to be. Ever since I was wee certain things had been pounded in my head – Albus Dumbledore was a good man, You Know Who was evil and I would do well to remember everything about him that my parents told me, and Harry Potter was the hero of the wizarding world.

In one fell swoop those last two things hit me off guard like a bludger to the chest during that fateful Duelling Club meeting.

Stupid Malfoy. 

He and Harry were duelling and of course the slimy git had to sodding cheat. Being a Malfoy, he doesn’t know any other way. Wanker. Always had to cheat and sneer and be better than Harry. Not that he’s better than a wee flobberworm anymore on account of that bastard Lucius Malfoy being locked up in Azkaban. _That_ managed to knock the bouncing ferret down a few pegs during sixth year but once again he’s up to the cheat and leer routine (although not as many people are buying it anymore. It’s dead pathetic, really.) Anyway. Malfoy performed this spell that made this bloody big snake come out of his wand and go toward Harry. That would have been all right; Harry could have likely handled it. 

But was he allowed to handle it?

Nooooo.

Poncy Lockhart had to butt in and try to get rid of the snake. Of course he buggered it up and only hacked the snake off even more. It flew up into the air, landed back on the floor with a smack, and started hissing something fierce and slithered towards Justin Finch-Fletchley. 

That was when Harry did the damnedest thing. 

He spoke to the snake.

He spoke to the snake _in bloody snake language_. Parseltongue. 

_**PARSELTONGUE.**_

Parseltongue is rare. Hardly anyone _ever_ has been able to do it. Besides, it’s not like anyone would be proud of being a Parselmouth. The person most famous for being a Parselmouth was Salazar Slytherin. 

There I went remembering one of the many facts about You Know Who (I just can’t bring myself to say Voldemort that often. I can do it; I just don’t sodding like to, all right?!) that Mum and Dad had taught me.

And Harry, the hero of the wizarding world, had just spoken Parseltongue in front of nearly the entire bloody school. 

It was dead creepy, the Parselmouth was, and Hermione and I tried to explain to him just how bad it was that he could do it. He seemed to not really care at first, saying that it shouldn’t matter _how_ he got the snake away from Justin just as long as he _did_ it. But Hermione and I _did_ care about it. We knew that people were going to start saying that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin and had done that horrid thing to Mrs Norris and Colin. Although Hermione was just as disbelieving about the whole thing as me, I don’t think she was as scared as I was in that empty Gryffindor common room with only one witch by my side and the hero who could speak Parseltongue right across from me.

What if Harry – 

No. I didn’t want to think about it. I did for a split second and made up my mind that it was total rubbish. Harry _was_ the hero. Just because he could speak Parseltongue didn’t automatically mean that he was Slytherin’s heir. 

And just because I knew that didn’t mean I wasn’t still a bit scared around him for a while – but then I’d remember how Mirror Harry had ruffled Mirror Me’s hair and the fear went right by the wayside.

My third confession.

I was surprised.

I was surprised by my best mate.

Every now and again he still surprises me something awful but nothing will every be as surprising as what he did that night so long ago on the edge of Hogsmeade.

When we were thirteen, making up Divination homework, practising DADA (and loving every minute of it) and worrying about Sirius Black, I became quite surprised by Harry.

I don’t reckon I’d have been able to do what Harry did. That’s why he’s The Boy Who Lived and I’m just plain old Ron Weasley. But that’s okay, mostly. 

We were all in the Shrieking Shack – Harry, Hermione, Professor Lupin, Sirius, Professor Snape, Scabbers, Crookshanks, and me.

Everything was all buggered up. My leg was busted and it hurt like the dickens. When Padfoot had drug me into the Whomping Willow I had tried like hell to fight it, hooking my leg around a tree root thinking that I’d have some leverage and he’d have to let go of me instead of pulling me down to that tunnel. Bloody wrong I was about that. Padfoot just yanked me inside and my leg snapped in what Madam Pomfrey later told me had been seven places. 

A lot of stuff went on – everyone ended up in the same room inside the Shrieking Shack, Professor Lupin figured out that Sirius was innocent, Scabbers wasn’t Scabbers but was Wormtail, and Professor Lupin and Sirius wanted to kill Wormtail for what he’d done to Harry’s parents.

I was still shocked as all bleeding hell to learn that Scabbers wasn’t a rat. It bloody disgusted me to know that not only was he really some wizard who’d posed as my family’s pet rat for twelve years, but he was a criminal _and_ the one who’d made Harry an orphan. I never hated anyone or anything before in my life but the minute I laid eyes on Wormtail and he confirmed everything Professor Lupin and Sirius said, I _hated_ him. 

I hated him and he had the fucking nerve to _speak_ to me. He wanted me to vouch for him! I couldn’t even _believe_ that he’d have the gall to look any of us in the eye – and then he goes asking for the likes of us to protect him?! 

When he couldn’t get me to help him, he tried Hermione (which was bad enough – he touched her robes and I wanted to hex the rest of his fucking fingers off), and then he went begging _Harry_. I then didn’t just want to hex his fingers off anymore. I wanted to hex them off and shove them down his squeaky throat and make him choke on them and die.

Before I could think to actually hex off those fingers or Harry had a chance to really react at all, Professor Lupin and Sirius tossed Wormtail away from Harry. They started yelling at him. Wormtail couldn’t take it, bloody coward, and squeaked out confirmations to what Sirius and Professor Lupin had said earlier. 

The entire time they were all bellowing back and forth, I was watching Harry’s face. For the first time, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Not at all. Hells, I wasn’t even sure what I was thinking at the time. All these thoughts were swirling about in my head and there was this mad cacophony (heh, hanging about Hermione pays off sometimes) screeching all at once and I couldn’t think. All I could do was focus on how Harry’s jaw was set and how my broken leg was quite starting to be unbearable. 

And then Professor Lupin said goodbye to Wormtail, Hermione turned around so she wouldn’t have to watch Professor Lupin and Sirius kill him, my mouth gaped open and my eyes rounded, and Harry finally spoke up.

Shouted rather than spoke up, I should say. 

I blinked.

Harry had thrown himself in between Wormtail and the two wands pointed at him.

_Come again?_ I thought, my lips moving soundlessly and one hand rubbing the back of my neck as though the gesture would somehow enable me to make sense of things.

The gesture didn’t help. I didn’t understand.

I didn’t understand but I guess I didn’t really have to. 

Harry surprised me. 

Harry surprised us all.

Once he explained himself, though, I understood his logic. What he said felt right. Harry thought that his parents wouldn’t have wanted to see Professor Lupin and Sirius turn into killers just to punish Wormtail. Instead, Harry wanted Wormtail to go to Azkaban like he should have all those years ago. 

I couldn’t have done that. Had it been my parents and family that Wormtail had betrayed and gotten killed, I would have likely joined in with Professor Lupin and Black rather than stop then.

But not Harry.

Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, showed mercy to the man who had ruined his life. I shouldn’t have been surprised, should I have been? 

But I was.

In that single moment when Harry had yelled NO and thrown himself in harm’s way to upkeep the integrity of his parents and their friends, I saw Harry as something bigger than a hero. I saw Harry as a heart. I saw Harry as a heart much like the Mirror Harry I’d seen two years prior in the Mirror of Erised – a Harry who was grown and strong and a survivor and much more than anything anyone could ever truly know. 

I never told Harry how much he surprised me that day. Maybe someday I will.

My fourth confession.

I wasn’t surprised.

I wasn’t surprised at all by what I learned about my best mate.

When we were fourteen, having just gotten over being at odds because of various stuff directly relating to the Triwizard Tournament and driving Hermione mad by making her be the middleman (I suppose I ought to really say middle _woman_ lest she decides to hex my goolies off), I learned something about Harry that wasn’t surprising in the least. 

Everything was back on track and as it should be. 

For a good part of that first half of the school year, Harry and I had been on the outs. I reckon it was mostly my fault. 

Oh, all right. 

It was my fault.

I was a jealous prat. 

When Harry’s name has been pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, I sort of went out of my head. How could he have done that to me? How could he have gone and found a way to get across the Age Line and not told me about it and taken me with him so we could both put our names in the goblet? 

Being best mates with The Boy Who Lived hasn’t always been the easiest thing. Life isn’t easy for Harry, not by a long shot. Constant publicity, name recognition, people staring at him wherever he goes… that’s not on. I reckon I wouldn’t like it very much… but at the same time…

At the same time a very small part of me wondered what it would be like to be Somebody like that. I guess that part of me took over when Harry’s name came out of that Goblet. I couldn’t see straight. I could barely _speak_. Harry had gone directly into that other room with the rest of the Champions and Hermione said not one word to me about it. Her eyes were wide and she kind of tilted her head toward me and scooted her chair closer. I kept expecting her to say something because Hermione _always_ has something to say. 

That time she didn’t. She didn’t speak and I loved her for it. 

Now that I think back on things, I was being bloody ridiculous. Why would Harry go to mad lengths to put his name in the Goblet of Fire when we both knew that if Dumbledore and the other Headmasters had set up an Age Line then there was no reasonable way of getting around it? Why would he invite that much more press by making sure he’d be one of the Triwizard Champions? 

I must have been barking mad. 

I was still hacked off at Harry when the first task came about. 

When the task was over, I couldn’t believe I’d ever accused him of cheating at all. Someone who wanted him dead put his name in that goblet. I was sure of it.

Harry had no sooner touched his Firebolt down when Hermione took my hand and tugged me along to go meet Harry at the tent. I’m surprised she didn’t have to use some sort of Transportation Charm to help me along – every part of my body was shaking and my knees were all wobbly. Blood was pounding in my ears and I didn’t have to see my reflection to know that I was white. 

I believed him. He hadn’t put his name in. Someone or someone _s_ had managed to outsmart Dumbledore’s Goblet of Fire and put Harry’s name in there to do him in. I told Harry so and I almost thought he wasn’t going to forgive me. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he hadn’t. I’d been a right bastard, really. Hermione stood there between us and I kept trying to talk but words weren’t coming. Everything was so ruddy awkward, I was ready to just turn on my heel and leave when Harry finally spoke. 

_It’s okay. Forget it._

Relief poured over me but I didn’t want to believe—I didn’t want to get my hopes up—

_No. I shouldn’t’ve_ — I had protested.

_Forget it._

Dear Merlin how bloody wicked those two words sounded. It was better than anything I’d ever heard before in my life. I smiled so wide I thought my face was going to split in two, Harry was grinning back at me, and Hermione started crying on account she was so happy we weren’t fighting anymore. 

So.

Harry and I were all right again. Hermione and I threw ourselves into helping Harry figure out what spell to use in the second task to help him breathe underwater. We were all in the library the night before the next task going through more books than even Hermione’d be able to read in a year when Fred and George came over to our table and told Hermione and me that Professor McGonagall was looking for us. Well. I didn’t like the sound of that one bit but I wasn’t about to skive off on a meeting with Professor McGonagall. From the looks of Hermione, she didn’t like it either. But what could we do? After telling Harry that we’d meet up with him in the common room later, off we went with Fred and George as chaperones to Professor McGonagall’s office. 

I knew something was not when we got to Professor McGonagall’s office. For one thing, Professor Dumbledore was there waiting for us. For another, Cho Chang and Fleur’s sister were also there. I glanced sidelong at Hermione and she just shrugged and gave me a look that clearly said “How am I supposed to know what this is about, Ron? Honestly!” before sitting down next to Cho. I took the seat opposite Hermione next to Gabrielle and listened as Dumbledore told us all why we were gathered together. 

_You were asked to come here, Hermione, because you are the thing that Viktor will miss the most._

Red. I saw red. Stupid bloody unibrowed Krum would miss Hermione the most? I opened my mouth to protest, to tell Dumbledore that he was wrong, that Vicky wouldn’t miss Hermione at all because he was too busy being Mr Perfect Quidditch Star to care about anyone but himself. Then I caught a sharp glance from Hermione and settled for crossing my arms over my chest and silently seething.

Dumbledore spoke to each of us in turn but I barely paid attention as he told the other two girls why there were here. I was too busy thinking about Vickyand how if he ever did anything to upset Hermione or even bloody touch her how I’d have to hex him silly.

_You were asked to come here, Cho, because you are the thing that Cedric will miss the most…You were asked to come here, Gabrielle, because you are the thing that Fleur will miss the most._

Stupid Krum. Bloody Bulgarians.

_You were asked to come here, Ron, because you are the thing that Harry will miss the most._

My mouth felt really dry for some reason and my collar was suddenly too tight. Dumbledore was rewarded with likely the most dopic expression I’d ever worn. I didn’t get it. 

And then…

I did.

Dumbledore went on to tell what he’d be doing next – putting us in a dreamless sleep and all that – but I only half-heard him. 

I was just so gob-smacked both by what Dumbledore had said and how I suddenly understood it as if I’d known it my whole life. Leaning back in my chair, I had to close my eyes and just _be_. A crazyquilt of emotions and sensations came welling up and I didn’t know what to focus on first. The most prominent thing about it all was that it felt like I’d been bone cold for yonks and someone had just turned on a hot tap and the water was filling me up the brim. All the other feelings and such were nice but not as nice as this heat that was washing up in me and over me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it had always been there, you know?

As Dumbledore prepared to charm us all into a dreamless sleep, I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered how Mirror Harry had looked at Mirror Me like I was the end-all be-all of everything. I decided just then that I wasn’t surprised at all by what I learned about my best mate. 

I would be the thing that Harry missed the most. In the moment I began to doze off, I knew that it had always been that way… and I also realized that Harry would be the thing _I_ missed the most.

My fifth confession.

I wanted to protect my best mate.

I _want_ to protect my best mate. 

I always have and I always will but I think that the time I actually _realized_ how much I wanted to protect him happened during our fifth year at Hogwarts.

When we were fifteen, trying to understand why the sod Dolores Umbridge (that fucking cow) was teaching DADA without allowing us to practise magic and all on pins and needles around one another because emotions were always running high and Hermione and I didn’t want to set Harry off, I learned just how much I wanted to protect my best mate.

Because I thought that the lot of my friends (and Fred and George especially) would make fun of me if they knew I was training for Quidditch trials, I snuck about the castle quite a bit going to and from the pitch as unnoticed as possible. I’d nearly gotten caught more than once. One of those times, Fred and George were out in the corridors with a bunch of firsties and there I was all exposed with my broom. They couldn’t see me! I couldn’t let them so I ducked behind the first thing I saw, which happened to be a statue of Lachlan the Lanky. Harry came up on me in the opposite direction and it was all I could do to hide my broom behind me. Heh. That didn’t exactly work out too ruddy well. 

I ended up telling Harry what I was doing and I was sure he’d laugh. He didn’t. Instead, he told me it’d be brilliant if I’d get on the team and I felt as though a tonne of bricks had been lifted off of my chest. 

We started back to the common room talking about Quidditch tryouts and I kept glancing over at Harry. One time he reached his hand up to scratch the side of his nose and I noticed something funny on the back of his hand. When I asked him about it he tried to tell me it was just a cut but I wasn’t buying that. 

Harry might be Seeker and have quick reflexes but I took him off-guard, catching hold of his forearm and pulling his hand up to my eye level. 

There were words carved into Harry’s skin.

_There were words carved into Harry’s skin._

_**There were fucking words carved into Harry’s skin.** _

I didn’t understand and yet at the same time I did all too well.

Letting go of Harry’s hand, I had to swallow against the rising bile in my throat a few times before I could ask him exactly what was going on. He paused for a moment and I thought he might not tell. If he hadn’t, I would have shaken it out of him. He told, though. I didn’t even have to ask him a second time to do it.

I wanted to fucking _kill_ her. I wanted to write a thousand times over into _her_ skin what a cow, what a vapid, ugly, worthless, daft, sick, _cow_ she was and then do something worse than any of the Unforgivables combined to her. I wanted her to _suffer_. I wanted her to feel pain for what she did to Harry. 

More than any of that, I wanted to protect Harry. I wanted to so badly I could _taste_ it. Harry had enough shite to deal with in his life. He didn’t need some overfed bint from the Ministry of Magic to _carve words into his fucking skin_. All he wants is to just be Harry. Is that too fucking much to ask? I’d do anything to keep him away from all that negative shite. Anything.

I tried to convince Harry to say something – _it didn’t matter what, just something_ – to McGonagall or Dumbledore but he wouldn’t. He claimed that he didn’t want to let Umbridge have the satisfaction of knowing that she’d ‘got’ to him and all that but I thought it was rubbish. I wasn’t going to push Harry though. 

Eyeing him closely while we were waiting for the Fat Lady to snap to it and give us entrance into Gryffindor, I was struck with how set his face was. It was a far cry from the carefree and content nature of Mirror Harry. I wondered if I’d ever see him look like that.

I’d protect him from the whole bloody world and die trying if I knew he’d someday have that look on his face like Mirror Harry. 

My sixth confession.

I admire my best mate.

I always have since the day we met. I reckon I did even before then on account of Mum and Dad talking about The Boy Who Lived from time to time when I was growing up at the Burrow.

I admire Harry a bloody great lot, that goes without saying. But I figure I ought to point out that I grow to admire him more and more every year.

I think the most I was aware of the fact that I admired Harry happened during our sixth year.

When we were sixteen, recovering from that horrid fucking mess at the Department of Mysteries and coping with side effects from injuries and just being teenagers in general, I was reminded of how much I admire my best mate.

When Professor Dumbledore had announced to us one day early spring in the Great Hall just before evening meal that there was to be a Career Advisement Fair the following weekend out on the courtyard, I didn’t know what to make of it. Hermione, of course, was excited about it and started yammering on and on to Harry and me how she was going to have to start right away on writing down a few questions she’d like to ask the different career people. I held back a snort (just barely) and traded looks with Harry. We both knew that ‘a few questions’ translated into ‘five full scrolls of questions’. I reckon Harry and I weren’t too careful about disguising our ‘look’ cos Hermione tutted and started to lecture the both of us on the hows and whys of the importance of taking the next weekend extremely seriously. 

Looking back on things, we should have listened to her.

Although papers like _The Daily Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_ were making reports on the return of Voldemort and The Order was constantly busy, Hogwarts didn’t seem to change too much. Granted, the Hogsmeade weekends were cut back and when we were allowed to go there were a lot more chaperones than there used to be and the DA had twice as many members as last year, life seemed rather normal. 

The weekend of that Career Advisement Fair changed how life at Hogwarts ‘seemed’ right quick.

It started out normal enough. Just after lunch the Head Boy and Girl and we Prefects led the upperclass students out to the courtyards. All over the place there were areas where witches and wizards were giving demonstrations of their jobs. Some of it was dead boring but some of it was bloody brilliant! Harry and I hung near the area two Aurors were showing students things and telling them about their work. The witch we didn’t know. She was tall and thin and looked like she’d been sucking on a lemon all morning. The other Auror was Kingsley Shacklebolt and Harry and I both bit back a grin when we saw him. He nodded at us and we nodded back and after that it was all career advisement with him. A fifth year Hufflepuff that I didn’t know wanted to ask Kingsley some questions since the other Auror was busy talking to Neville. 

Harry and I said goodbye and caught up with Hermione over where she was talking some Healer from St Mungo’s ear off. It was pretty clear to us that she’d be there for yonks so we walked around, stopping every so often to listen to witches and wizards lecture. 

_CRACK._

The sound was unmistakable. Someone had just Apparated into the courtyard. But how could they? Like Hermione always said, there were Apparition wards set up all through Hogwarts. For a second I was just puzzled and then, after a beat, I pulled my wand out of my pocket and turned around the same time Harry did.

_CRACK CRACK CRACK_

The noise sounded over and over again while Harry grabbed at his forehead and yelled for me to duck down.

Apparation wards obviously weren’t enabled anymore. I don’t know how but they weren’t working and knowing that was bloody enough. 

Death Eaters. 

People started panicking and younger students started to run. Being Prefect, I had to get some sort of order and make sure everyone got back to the castle all right. I didn’t want to leave Harry. I wanted to stay right there and protect him but he wouldn’t let me. Before I could protest he’d pulled me back up to a standing position after another hex flew right over top of us and yelled at me to find Hermione and start getting people to safety. 

The last thing I saw of him that afternoon was his thin form in the middle of this cloud of smoke from all the hexing flying back and forth, his wand clenched in his hand and determination plainly on his face. Somehow I managed to find Hermione and we spent the next few hours finding students who were hiding all throughout the grounds and guiding them back to the castle. We didn’t want to stay inside and we didn’t want to be herding up all of these kids. The thing that Hermione and I wanted to do the most was to be out there in the courtyard with Harry, those two Aurors, those Career Advisement Fair witches and wizards, and our professors fighting those fucking Death Eaters. But we couldn’t. Our job as Prefect was just as important as what Harry was doing out there. He was defending Hogwarts and the likes of Hermione and me were keeping what made up Hogwarts safe. 

Once we finally got everyone inside and tracked down the fifth year prefects, Hermione and I rushed to the courtyard where there were still people duelling… or so we thought. It was bloody dark and we couldn’t see. 

So much smoke. 

So many bodies.

Crouching low and hiding behind trees and bushes as we made a big circle, we came across bodies of people who’d been at the Career Advisement Fair, bodies of Death Eaters, and bodies of people who had been familiar faces at Hogwarts for so long. Now they were gone. Dennis Creevey, Morag MacDougal, Tracey Davis, Stewart Ackerly, Madam Pince, Madam Hooch…

But where was Harry?

I was starting to get scared and so was Hermione. We sped up and tried not to think about Dennis or Stewart or the rest of them. We had to find Harry. 

And then I saw sparks fly out near the Whomping Willow. Hermione must have seen it as well because she suddenly grabbed my hand and started running in that direction. Hanging onto her with all I had while gripping my wand in the other and running and also looking over my shoulder every couple steps made it damned hard to run at all. 

The sparks grew brighter the closer we got. We could just make out two figures duelling as though their lives depended on it (and they _did_ ), getting closer and closer to the Whomping Willow. 

The branches were thrashing fiercely and I winced just watching it. I remembered all too well what those sodding things felt like when they hit you (or the Ford Anglia you just happened to be inside).

Hermione gasped and clutched my arm when one of the figures rolled onto the ground to avoid a branch and the other person turned around wildly, trying to see where their opponent went. Just as he spun around for a second time a branch nailed him right in the stomach and sent him flying up in the air like one of those rag dolls Ginny had when she was wee. The both of us looked away and grimaced when the figure hit the ground with a thud. The person didn’t move or make any sort of sound. I shuddered and then made a move to get out from behind the bush we were using for cover but Hermione stopped me before I got too far. 

_Don’t, Ron! We don’t know if they’re on our side or not!_

I nodded grimly and hung back. We watched as the lone figure under the Whomping Willow did some sort of awkward dance avoiding the limbs as best he could, getting nicked here and there in the shoulder and falling to the ground more than once. He’d keep getting up, though, and I could feel Hermione fidgeting beside me. Without taking my eyes off of the scene before us, I reached my free hand out and twined my fingers with her, pressing my palm to hers. That seemed to help a bit and we waited.

Finally the figure was out of the Whomping Willow’s range and growing closer and closer to us. 

I knew all along it was him.

Before Hermione could hush me I’d cried out his name and crossed the field to him, so relieved that it was him and he was alive and not hurt that I didn’t care about much anything else right then.

_Hi._ He’d said that so evenly, so matter-of-factly like he’d not just been duelling with...whoever it had been. 

Hermione burst out with “Is that all you can say?” before pulling him in close for a tight hug, grabbing hold of the fabric of my robe and yanking me close too. It felt good to be that close to them, to be that close to Harry. 

I could feel him warm next to me, feel the way his chest was rising and falling with his heavy breathing, could feel him solid and strong. I didn’t want him to move. Being aware of how real and firm he was wasn’t enough. I wanted to feel him beside me always…and knowing that I felt that way didn’t seem dodgy or worrisome in the least. It seemed natural. It seemed natural and for a split second I wondered if this is how the Mirror Me felt when Mirror Harry slung his arm about my shoulder.

And just as quick as it was there, it was gone. We couldn’t stay like that all night, not when we were still unsure if there was still fighting going on or not. Harry quickly told us of the Death Eaters he had immobilized, bound, and tied to a large rock down near the lake as he led us to the spot where his latest duelling partner had landed. As Hermione and I had suspected, it had been another Death Eater.

_This isn’t the only one you’ve fought alone today, is it Harry?_ I’d asked. He nodded, telling us how all the adults were overwhelmed and he’d had to fend for himself. Hermione gasped and my mouth formed a thin line. Harry just shrugged his shoulders and stared at us evenly. _I’m going to have to fight Voldemort all on my own. I reckon this is just practise. Don’t worry about me. I’m here to do what the Prophecy said I’m going to do. You can only help me so much._ A protest died on my lips when Harry went on, _And don’t tell me you didn’t help me today. You did. The thought of seeing you two again kept me going._ He grew silent again, only speaking to perform a Body Binding charm on that Death Eater and off he went floating his opponent to that rock by the lake.

Hermione stayed close behind him but I lagged, watching Harry just react and do things because that was what he had to do. 

My heart began to pound and I knew it was because I thought so highly of Harry right then that I thought I might burst. 

I admire Harry a bloody great lot. That’s one of the few things about my life that I’ll never doubt.

My final confession.

I am in love.

I am in love and I am scared of that and of who I am in love with.

I am in love with my best mate.

I am in love with my best mate and I don’t think I can take it anymore. 

We are seventeen, in our last year at Hogwarts studying frantically for our N.E.W.T.s and trying to figure out what we’re doing after we leave school and wondering if this will be the year that Harry has to kill Voldemort. (There. I sodding did it, all right?) We are seventeen and I am in love with Harry. 

I reckon that I have been for a long time but I just didn’t know it until this year. One morning we were having breakfast in the Great Hall pouring over that morning’s issue of _The Daily Prophet_ for news on Death Eaters and Lord Thingy (What a sodding joke Fudge had been, right?) – me reading over Harry’s shoulder like always - and the next I was suddenly aware of how close he was and how he smelled like grass and cinnamon. I inhale quickly, my breath whistling between small gaps in my teeth and I shift in my seat uncomfortably, my mind racing back to that night near the Whomping Willow the year before when Hermione had drawn us close to her in a three-way hug. Solid and strong and real and firm. I wanted to feel that again. 

Harry glanced up from the paper and gave me a half-grin, a question in his eyes. A tingle that had started in the pit of my belly flared up and then I was so warm and felt like I could just float away while I returned the half-grin, unsure of exactly what was going on but not really caring as long as I was looking at Harry and he was looking back at me.

Hermione cleared her throat and that warm floating feeling faded dead away. I shook my head and tipped my chin down a bit, not wanting to look either of them in the eye. My ears burned red when Harry asked if I was feeling all right and I just sort of grunted and excused myself from the table. 

I find myself doing a lot of that lately, excusing myself from the room after spending a few minutes close to Harry. More now than I did earlier in the year, that’s for bloody sure.

Every time I’m around him I feel like some silly schoolgirl with a crush. For Merlin’s sakes, I’m acting like all those giggling girls at the Yule Ball did, all twittering on about their dates and blushing and all that. 

I’m not a sodding girl! I shouldn’t turn bright red around someone who’s been my best mate for over six years now. 

It’s not right. It’s not right but I don’t want to not feel the way I do about Harry.

He’s always been there for me. He’s defended me, he’s been in nasty scrapes with me, he’d made me had the best fun and adventures of my life. Harry likes me for me. He doesn’t care if I’m just some poor Weasley kid like most of the people here at Hogwarts do. He knows me.

He knows me but it’s not enough. I want to know him in return. 

Oh, I know Harry better than anyone else. But no matter how close you are to someone as mates, you don’t know _everything_. Only…only someone they let into their heart _that_ way really learns everything about them. 

I want to be that person. 

Oh, Merlin, do I want to be that person. 

When I see the way the girls here act around Harry, treating him as The Boy Who Lived, the hero of the wizarding world, it makes me sick. They don’t know the real him and they don’t care to know the real him. They want Harry Potter, the package deal. I want Just Harry.

I want the Just Harry who laughs when I get hacked off at losing a chess piece to him. I want the Just Harry whose eye twitches just so when you mention Potions class. I want the Just Harry who can eat approximately 27 every flavour beans at once. I want the Just Harry who cheers on the Cannons with me even though we both know they’re utter crap. I want the Just Harry with the calloused palms from flying his broom without wearing his gloves. I don’t just want a little of Just Harry. I want all of him.

I want him but I’ll never have him. 

Never let it be said that Hermione is a daft witch. It didn’t take her long to figure out that something was wrong with me. One afternoon while Harry had detention for this spectacular row he’d gotten into with Snape in Potions the previous day, Hermione corned me in the common room and made me tell her everything. She thought I ought to come clean with Harry as soon as possible. I didn’t think that was such a good idea myself and I tried to tell her so. Not having any of it, Hermione was. _You’re going to lose him for good if you don’t,_ she’d warned me. _He thinks you’re hacked off with him and he doesn’t know why. You’d best tell him Ron and tell him immediately._

Against my better judgement and out of fear of losing Harry altogether, I told him.

I waited until everyone had left the Room of Requirement after a DA meeting, sat Harry down, and somehow spit out exactly what was wrong.

He just sort of blinked at me and said ‘Oh’ a few times at first. I would have bolted from the room if I didn’t have a morbid curiosity to hear what he might have to say when he regained the power of speech. 

I can’t even think on what he said anymore. It hurts too bloody much. 

Oh, who am I sodding kidding? I think on his words even when I don’t fucking want to.

His actual words weren’t hateful or anything like that. He was shocked but took it rather well, all things considered seeing as I’d never even told him before that I realised I fancied blokes. He told me that he loved me as a friend, as a brother, but that he couldn’t be what I wanted him to be. 

_I don’t want you to be anything!_ I wanted to shout but couldn’t form the words. _I just want you, Harry! Just you! It’s always been just you!_

It’s always been Just Harry for me but it will never be Just Ron for him.

I have to accept that. 

I just don’t know if I can.

Why can’t he see what I see? I saw him. I saw _us_. I saw us in the Mirror of Erised and for all those years I’d been clinging to that image of Mirror Harry and Mirror Me looking so together and right. I thought that could be us. I thought that maybe, just maybe, the Mirror of Erised showed you more than your heart’s most precious desire but also showed you what would happen one day. After all, Dumbledore only ever told us bits and pieces of things. He never gave us the whole picture and I clung to that notion. 

I should have let go of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004 for HPRWFQF on LiveJournal. Prompt was, "Ron loves Harry, unrequited (at Hogwarts)."


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